


The Housekeeper's Hobby

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Miss Marple - Agatha Christie
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Neele's holiday is enlivened by the reappearance of a familiar face. But what can Mary Dove's game be this time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Housekeeper's Hobby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the unconventionalcourtship romance-novel ficathon, based on changing the names in prompt 61 ('The Silver Lord' by Miranda Jarrett).
>
>> The Sinner
>> 
>> On the surface, [Mary Dove] appeared to be the prim and proper housekeeper of Feversham Hall. In actuality she was the leader of a notorious smuggling gang! But the arrival of Feversham’s new owner threatened to ruin her thriving business.
>> 
>> Meets the saint…
>> 
>> [Inspector Neele] lived by his honour and was duty bound to stop any illegal activity on [the premises]… even if the villain was a mysterious beauty with eyes no man could resist. Would turbulent passion be enough to unite lovers on opposite sides of the law?

Inspector Neele had thought 'Feversham Hall' an unlikely name for an hotel, even at the time he'd made his booking. Now he'd arrived, it was clear that the name was no affectation. Until comparatively recently, the Hall had been exactly that: a country house on the outskirts of the coastal resort of Fircombe. Though the necessary changes had been made for its new purpose (probably by unskilled local tradesmen, Neele decided, given the state of the joinery) it still retained the atmosphere of an aristocratic pile fallen on hard times. Most of the furniture in the drawing room, for example, looked as if it dated to before the Kaiser's war. 

He sat back in a creaking armchair, and debated what to make of his holiday. Not that he needed one, in his opinion, but the Assistant Commissioner had refused to be gainsaid. 

"How nice to see a familiar face." 

Inspector Neele didn't jump, but he looked around rather more sharply than might have been expected. A slender, petite, attractive woman, wearing an understated grey dress, was standing just behind and to the right of his chair. 

"Miss Dove," he said. "What brings you here?" 

"I'm the housekeeper, of course." Mary Dove brushed a few imaginary specks of dust off her left cuff. "I came with—" 

"— Excellent references. You always do. So you're the one behind this hotel lark?" 

Mary shook her head. "No, that's all down to the new Lord Claremont. Would you believe it, he inherited only a week after I started work?" 

"There's very little I wouldn't believe where you're concerned, Miss Dove." 

She smiled meltingly. "A suspicious mind is a terrible thing, Inspector. I'm not in the habit of polishing off aristocrats, particularly when they haven't got a penny to leave. So there we all were, the day after the funeral, and the new lord announced his plans to turn this place into an hotel." 

"Did he say why?" 

"I think he imagined a stream of rich American visitors eager to pay top prices. I can see his reasoning; if somebody has come to this country with the intention of spending money, it makes things easier for all concerned. Tea, Inspector? I believe you take it with two sugars." 

"That's right." The Inspector watched Mary as she bent over the teapot. She hadn't changed; as charming and demure and impenetrable as ever. "Except I'm not rich and I'm not American, so what am I doing here?" 

"It transpires that our transatlantic friends require certain standards of accommodation." Mary returned and, with a bright smile, set the teacup by his side. "Bluntly, we need money for the building work. And we can only make that from the domestic trade. Hence your presence, Inspector." 

"And what about _your_ presence, Miss Dove?" 

"Oh, you know me, Inspector. I like a challenge." 

"'Challenge' sounds about right," the Inspector admitted. Transforming a country house into a functioning hotel sounded so challenging as to be almost impossible. But he doubted that such a purely commercial task was the sole reason for the presence of his personal snake in the grass. 

"I bet that's not your only iron in the fire," he muttered. 

"I don't bet — at least not in that sense." Mary returned to her station behind the chair, making sure he could see her calm, inscrutable, smiling face in the mirror on the opposite wall. "Really, Inspector, you have the most implausible ideas about me. Even assuming for the sake of argument that I might previously have been connected with criminal activities — for which you have not one smidgen of evidence — it would not follow that everything I do is necessarily criminal. Perhaps, like yourself, I am here merely for a change of scene." 

In the distance, a bell rang. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I have my duties to attend to. Do enjoy your stay, Inspector." 

She glided out. 

"Perhaps you are," Inspector Neele said, and sipped at his tea. It was excellent. "But I wouldn't lay odds on it." 

⁂

Setting about his holiday with the same dogged sense of determination that he brought to the world of crime, Inspector Neele decided that whatever Mary Dove was currently doing, she was none of his business. If she was engaged in illicit activities, that was a matter for the local force, not a Scotland Yard man out of place. 

His first choice of activity was to spend an afternoon fishing. He found, however, that his imagination wouldn't let the matter rest. On the contrary, it decided that Miss Dove was a suspect in some as-yet-unknown crime, and obligingly presented a series of incriminating scenarios. 

_Mary bustled into the bedroom where the old lord lay in his sickbed, accompanied by a housemaid with a feather duster. As she supervised the girl, her hand passed over a glass by the old man's bed, and a tablet dropped in with scarcely a ripple..._

He shook his head. No motive, and what if there had been a post-mortem? 

_It was the dead of night. Behind the reception desk, the hotel's safe stood, its door illuminated by moonlight. A trim, stealthy figure could be spied, flitting from one shadow to another, avoiding patches of the floor that might give her away with a creak. The safe did not long withstand the nocturnal visitor's attentions, and quickly swung open, revealing..._

Neele dismissed that scenario, too. None of the guests at the hotel had looked likely to have anything worth stealing. Maybe Miss Dove shared Lord Claremont's hopes of a future filled with wealthy visitors, but at the moment rich pickings from the guests seemed a very distant dream. That would also likely rule out blackmail. 

_A young woman was sitting in the drawing room, as the Inspector had. Mary Dove appeared at one of the doors, beckoning her. Trustingly, she followed Mary through a series of corridors, into the cellars below the house. As she passed through a door, two Chinamen grabbed the girl, one pressing a chloroformed handkerchief to her face..._

The Inspector delivered a reprimand to his imagination for stealing ideas from sensation novels. It was beyond the bounds of possibility that people could be kidnapped from a seaside resort without anyone noticing; and he didn't think Miss Dove would have cared to be involved with that kind of crime. She would, he thought, consider it beneath her, not to mention in poor taste. 

The twitching of his fishing line caught his attention. How long had he been daydreaming? He hastily reached for the rod and tried to reel his fish in, but too late. The hook emerged from the water, empty. 

⁂

Had Inspector Neele not woken unexpectedly that night, he might have departed Feversham Hall no wiser than when he arrived. As it was, though, he had had occasion to rise, and happened to glance out of the landing window. The Hall had been built pretty much on the coast, and on a clear night he would have had an excellent view of the shore. On this night, under a heavy overcast, all that could be seen was a glimmer on the waves and, closer in, slowly-moving specks of light. Specks that moved, it seemed to him, with a very human speed and purpose. 

Neele's unruly imagination at once presented him with another image: _Miss Dove standing on a headland, tending a fire. Out at sea, an old-fashioned schooner swung toward the light, only to fall foul of hidden rocks. On the beach below, burly-looking men wearing striped jumpers and brandishing clubs moved in to plunder the wreck..._

Maybe not, but the Inspector decided that the beach could do with closer examination. Tomorrow morning, perhaps, would be the time for that. 

He turned away from the window and took a few steps in the direction of his room. Before he did so, however, he heard a sound on the ground floor: a door, opened and closed by somebody determined not to make a noise. He remained where he was, and presently heard the staircase creak as somebody ascended. 

Moving silently on slippered feet, the Inspector made his way in the direction of the staircase, and promptly collided with the last person he'd wanted to meet. 

"Inspector?" It was Mary's voice, of course. He shifted slightly, enough to get her between himself and the window. The light was poor enough that he could only make out a silhouette, but she didn't look to be wearing outdoor clothes. His hand had briefly come into contact with her arm, and touched thin fabric. She might be wearing a blouse or a nightdress, but not a heavy coat. And he'd felt no trace of moisture, which could hardly have been avoided on a damp night like this. 

"I do hope you're not going to make a habit of creeping around the hotel after lights out," Mary said, her voice just above a whisper. "This is a respectable establishment." 

"Of course, I've only got your word for that." 

Mary sighed. "Really, Inspector. If you're looking for criminals, go into town tomorrow and arrest a bag-snatcher. If you're looking for the bathroom, you're at the wrong end of the corridor. And if you're looking for a midnight tryst with me, I hate to be disobliging, but I'm not that kind of girl." 

"Miss Dove, if you're accusing me of..." 

"Good _night_ , Inspector." 

She departed with no sound beyond a faint rustle of fabric. Inspector Neele shook his head, and groped his way back to his room, encountering no worse peril in the dark than an awkwardly-placed hatstand. 

An awkwardly-placed hatstand, he noted, on which a damp mackintosh was hanging. 

⁂

The following morning, Inspector Neele kept his promise to himself, and made a closer inspection of the beach in daylight — having first watched Miss Dove cycling away in the direction of the town, taking the morning's letters to the post office. As beaches went, it wasn't much out of the ordinary; shingle to the water's edge, rough grass further back, and then a gravel path back to the Hall. No convenient reef on which to wreck a ship, and for that matter no clifftop on which a false beacon could be lit. Useless to look for tracks, of course; a tank or a traction engine might have left a trace on the hard-packed ground, but nothing lighter. 

Nevertheless, the Inspector devoted some time to walking up and down the beach, bending from time to time to examine such litter as the sea had washed up, or careless holidaymakers had discarded. Though his search turned up occasional fragments of fishing nets, cigarette packets, wrappers, and abraded pieces of glass, these were hardly the stuff of a criminal case. 

Well, then. If physical evidence wasn't to be had, he'd have to fall back on imagination again. Why might someone — several someones — be on the beach at dead of night? Meeting up with a boat seemed the simplest explanation. And from there, it wasn't a great leap to the idea of contraband. 

The mental image that came to him this time was of Mary Dove in a cloak, domino mask and tricorn hat, holding a dark lantern in front of her, and leading a line of donkeys. On the beach before her, men of piratical appearance were dragging a dinghy laden with barrels up the beach. 

He shook his head at the notion, and decided that he should take Miss Dove's advice of the previous night, at least in part. A walk into town would help to settle his thoughts. 

⁂

If Inspector Neele had hoped that his walk into town would provide a distraction from the question of what, if anything, Mary Dove's game was, it quickly proved nothing of the kind. Absurd though the mental image of the smugglers had been, he had to admit that his subconscious had raised an important point. Barrels of brandy were a nice historical image, but you couldn't fit that many into a motor boat. And if you did bring them ashore, you'd need a lorry to get them well away by daybreak. 

Purely as a matter of routine (or so he told himself) he made it his business to call on a few householders in the vicinity of the Hall, and sound them out on the subject. Though they were happy to grumble about the annoying ways of motorists who drove around these parts late at night, it was clear that their complaints were not of recent date. No mysterious lorries had visited the hotel the previous night. 

More likely to be something light and valuable, then. Possibly this was how Miss Dove and her associates fenced their ill-gotten gains. That seemed unlikely, though. Jewellery was small and easily concealed; why go to all the trouble and expense of a boat, rather than a simple false-bottomed suitcase? 

Not for the first time, Inspector Neele reminded himself that he was on holiday. He certainly didn't have enough evidence to bring to the local police, let alone make arrests off his own bat. For his own peace of mind, the best course of action would be to ignore the whole thing. 

_Or keep an eye on her until you've got her game worked out,_ something at the back of his mind suggested. 

Firmly telling himself that he would do nothing of the kind, the Inspector turned, with a renewed concentration, to the innocent activities beloved of the British holidaymaker. The hour or so he spent in the town library with a nautical chart and a tide table, working out likely routes a small, fast boat might take to the continent and back, was neither here nor there. 

⁂

On his return from the town, Inspector Neele formed the distinct impression that he was being watched. There was no apparent change in Mary Dove's outward behaviour — she was still the perfect housekeeper — but her supervisory duties seemed to bring her into the Inspector's vicinity rather more often than the law of averages might suggest. 

Not that Inspector Neele minded. To all appearances, he had already forgotten the previous night's encounter, and showed every intention of spending the day in the harmless pursuits of an English holidaymaker. For some time after dinner he stood on the front lawn of the Hall, watching the circling seabirds through a pair of binoculars. And if he happened to lower his gaze from time to time, to take in the traffic on the surrounding roads, or the shipping in the Channel... well, his charming shadow, no doubt discreetly watching him from one of the Hall's windows, was at liberty to draw her own conclusions. 

When evening turned to night, Inspector Neele retired reasonably early to bed, and switched out the light. Though he had not seen Mary follow him from the dining room, or kneeling down outside his door, he had no doubt that she would have seen him safely into his bedroom. Possibly she would also take the precaution of jamming the door — disguising it as a trifling accident, inevitable in a building of this age. 

The Inspector opened the window, climbed into bed and forced himself to remain there for half an hour. At the expiration of that time, he rose again, and donned a dark jumper and trousers, rubber-soled shoes, and gloves. He crossed noiselessly to the window, and climbed out onto a crumbling stone ledge. A little way to his right was a drainpipe, down which he lowered himself. 

The weather was once again overcast, and even with his eyes adapted to the dark, Neele could make out only vague shapes. His first task was to get to the front of the Hall, keeping to strips of grass and trying not to tread in the flowerbeds, where he might leave footprints, or on gravel paths, where he could not fail to be heard. His progress was slow and frustrating; there was a torch in his pocket, but he dared not use it. 

When he eventually rounded the corner of the building, he could vaguely make out the lawn, and the beach in the distance. One of the things that had struck him in his examination of the beach was its lack of concealment. Anybody involved in landing a boat or transferring cargo could be seen from a number of vantage points, not least the Hall itself. By the same token, of course, a person on the beach would have ample warning if any stranger approached. 

When scouting the area over the previous day, Neele had come to the conclusion that the best place to remain hidden was in a clump of rhododendrons near the drive. Though it was not particularly near the beach, there was no significant vegetation any closer. And if anyone was travelling from the house to the beach, or back, they would be likely to pass reasonably close to him. 

Having successfully gained the shelter of the rhododendrons, the Inspector crouched down among them and began his vigil. 

⁂

A few hours later, Inspector Neele was finding the rhododendron bushes cramped and uncomfortable, and the night chilly. It was, of course, necessary to endure such inconveniences in the line of duty, but — as he had pointed out to himself numerous times — he wasn't on duty in the first place. His imagination, obligingly taking up an idea and running with it, chose that moment to present him as a troubadour standing beneath Miss Dove's window, pacing back and forth while the lady showed no sign of putting in an appearance. 

He shifted position, and froze. The distant sound of an outboard motor could be heard over the gentle murmur of the waves. The Inspector turned his gaze seaward, but could make nothing out beyond vague shapes. But then, a boat making a clandestine delivery would hardly follow Trinity House rules when it came to displaying navigation lights. 

A few minutes later, the soft whirr of electric motors could be heard from the direction of the road. Their source, a vehicle about the size of a small van, passed within feet of Inspector Neele's hiding place. Rather than head in the direction of the hotel, it briefly paused just inside the gates, then drove across the lawn in the direction of the beach. 

Had he not been maintaining the strictest secrecy, the Inspector would have snapped his fingers. No wonder the local residents hadn't heard a suspicious lorry over the last few days. No-one would think twice about the sound of an electric milk float in the early hours of the morning. 

At almost the same moment that the milk float drew up at the edge of the lawn, the sound of the outboard motor cut out. Footsteps could be heard on the shingle, and brief flashes of torchlight could be seen. There was no doubt that some kind of suspicious activity was in progress, and certainly enough to justify informing the local police. 

The Inspector cast one final glance at the shore. As he did so, one of the smugglers must have swung his torch carelessly; just for a second, it illuminated a person standing near the milk float. She was facing away from him, but her height and figure were exactly what he would have expected of Mary Dove in a mackintosh. Almost at once, the light flickered away again. The Inspector wondered if, over the noise of the surf, he'd actually heard her say 'Get that torch down,' or whether he'd imagined it. 

Still, he couldn't hang about; Mary and her smugglers certainly wouldn't. He couldn't risk returning to the Hall itself to put his call through. Mary might have left a convenient door or window open, but it was more likely that she'd have locked the door and brought the key with her. He'd have to return to his bedroom the same way he'd left, and that would take valuable time. Instead, Neele left the grounds of the hotel and made for the public call box down the road. With any luck, the Fircombe police could catch the entire gang at a stroke — and, even if they arrived too late for that, they shouldn't experience any particular difficulty in outpacing a milk float. 

⁂

Despite his late night, Inspector Neele had woken early. So, it seemed, had Miss Dove; as he descended to breakfast, he had seen her quietly walking through the hall, wearing a light floral dress. She had acknowledged his presence with a nod, but no more. 

After breakfast, he decided to seek her out. Compared to the previous evening, she appeared to be keeping a low profile, but he eventually ran her to earth in the kitchen garden. 

"Miss Dove," he said. "Might I have a few words?" 

She greeted him with her usual smile, though in his estimation she looked a little peaky. She had, no doubt, had a later night even than he had. 

"That sounds ominous," she said. "I do hope you don't propose to handcuff me and drag me away from the runner beans." 

"Surely it isn't your job to pick runner beans." 

"No, but I've got to plan the menus. If our plants aren't growing well we've got to buy them in." 

The Inspector nodded. "You might want to have a word with your gardener about that. Looks to me as if he might be skimping on the lime." 

"I'll bear it in mind. But if you want me to believe you came here to exchange gardening tips, I'm afraid I don't." 

"As it happens, I didn't, Miss Dove. I was down by the beach last night." 

She raised her sculpted eyebrows. "Really. On a whim, no doubt." 

"As you're so fond of saying: You can't prove any different." 

"Touché, Inspector. And what did you see on your nocturnal ramble?" 

"Goods being brought ashore, Miss Dove, in contravention of the Prohibited Substances Act, 1937." 

Mary's laughter seemed a little forced. "Really, Inspector. On a dark night, you saw people bringing something ashore and you saw it well enough that you could tell it was illegal? You must have superb eyesight. Did you eat a lot of carrots as a boy?" 

"As it happens, I did. And we've got proof by now. Your milk float was stopped by the Fircombe police, and two men are under arrest." 

"'My' milk float? Inspector, whatever gives you the idea that I was involved with this?" 

"Because you were on that beach, Miss Dove. You had to be. The way I see it, it's easy for a gang to find someone to drive a boat, or deliver a package, no questions asked. Someone who can make clever plans and get people to follow them, and doesn't mind breaking the law... that sort of person's a lot harder to find. Without you there was too much risk of something going wrong. Also," he added, more or less as an afterthought, "I saw you." 

For a moment, he thought Mary's self-control wavered, but if so, she quickly pulled herself together. 

"I think you must have been mistaken, Inspector. You couldn't possibly swear to it in court." 

"Oh, I'm pretty sure. You were wearing a dark-coloured raincoat — same one that was hanging on the landing hatstand the night before last. It wasn't there in the morning." 

"So you've made up your mind, then, Inspector? You think I'm involved with a smuggling gang? Really, it sounds terribly romantic." 

"Can you say to my face that you've nothing to do with it?" 

Mary adopted an enigmatic expression. "'Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.'" 

"'Watch the wall, my darling, when the gentlemen go by.' I wouldn't turn my face away from a crime, Miss Dove." 

"For that matter, there are certain important differences between me and a gentleman. Just in case you hadn't noticed." She stifled a yawn. "I believe we find ourselves exactly where we started." 

"Meaning?" 

"In the vulgar parlance, you got nothing on me, Inspector. I'm sure your professional brethren will be here at any moment with a warrant to search my quarters — or perhaps the whole hotel. Heaven knows what Lord Claremont will think of that. But you don't need me to tell you what they'll find." 

The Inspector nodded gravely. "Nothing." 

Mary's smile was tinged with sympathy. "Really, it hardly seems fair on you, Inspector. After you've taken all the time and trouble to come up with such a romantic story, and arrested a couple of dope-runners into the bargain. Perhaps I should commit a crime in front of you, and then you can arrest me and enjoy your victory. Just a little crime, of course. What about littering? Or indecent exposure?" 

"I'd prefer it if you didn't." 

"Really?" Mary's hand stole to the top button of her understated floral dress. "I thought you might appreciate the indecent exposure at least... no, you're right, of course. It's no fun if I make it too easy for you." 

"Is that what this is all about for you? Fun?" 

Mary yawned again. "And money, of course. A girl's got to make a living somehow." 

"I think that's the nearest you've ever come to a confession, Miss Dove." 

"Don't worry, it won't happen again. Do you know, Inspector, I think you might have a point." 

"In what way?" 

"I've been working too hard: I need a break." She glanced at her watch. "We're about ten minutes into my day off, and I don't intend to spend it staring at runner beans. Why don't you take me to the beach and buy me an ice cream? Or we could have a paddle in the sea." 

Inspector Neele gave her a long look, and decided once again that he'd never get to the bottom of her. 

"If that's what you'd like, Miss Dove, I wouldn't say no. And perhaps, just for today, you could manage to keep out of mischief." 

She raised her eyebrows, her features once more lighting up with amusement. "I very much doubt _that_ , Inspector."


End file.
